• Rita scanned her emails, and clicked on that that was titled: CREEPY....
    It was just one of those dumb FWD's where there was a ghost/killer, and if you didn't Forward the email then the ghost would kill you. "Just a dumb email," Rita sighed, stretching out her tanned arms above her and yawning. She was extremely exhausted from being out all day with her friends. They had gone around the whole Oval mall, and into every, single, store. She glanced at the clock; it was 12:14. Scrolling down, she read the last line of the email. It read: If you don't forward this email, Delilah Bloom will come and kill you at 12:30. Rita shivered, then laughed. I'm so stupid, she thought. Of course that isn't real. But still, the whole story connected to Delilah Bloom was still a little creepy. She'd been chained to the wall for an unknown reason with her head cut off. And for years she'd wandered around trying to get out of the jail, until she finally escaped and started killing people. It was said that Delilah had long black hair, and was as pale as pale could get, and she had lime green eyes. And if you didn't Forward the email, Delilah would come and kill you. There was a lot more to the story, but it was just too creepy for someone to want to remember.
    Rita clicked Delete then shut off the computer. She got up, changed her clothes and brushed her teeth, then crawled into bed. She was just dozing off when a head abruptly appeared over her face. Long black hair was drapped to the side of the face, and the whiteness of the skin cast a fluorescent light around Rita's bedroom.
    Rita's eyes jerked wide open. Her flesh began to boil. For minutes, the face was there. It wasn't moving, and soon, Rita became sure that she was imagining things. Her heart slowed down to it's normal beat, and Rita closed her eyes, certain that when she woke up, the face would be gone. But she still felt like something was near her.
    Nevertheless, she started to go back to sleep. Then suddenly, ice-cold hands were seizing her neck. It felt like spiders were crawling up and down her body.
    So it was true.
    "Next time, I'll Forward the email!" Rita cried, her voice cracking. She wasn't sure if she had just thought, or said it. Her eyes kept fluttering. She wanted to move, she wanted to do something, but she was frozen.
    Then there was a voice. It sounded as if it hadn't spoken in years. It sounded like gravel, and sounded hard and cold. It sounded like nails on a chalkboard. But yet, it sounded so beautiful.
    "There won't be a next time."
    gonk